


No Exposition

by djcati



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: X-wing Series - Aaron Allston & Michael Stackpole
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 02:06:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/djcati/pseuds/djcati
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hobbie was starting to understand why Wedge had been so reluctant to grant him and Wes leave at the same time."</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Exposition

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for ~virusq on LJ, as part of the 2006 ~wraithsquadron ficathon.

Hobbie was starting to understand why Wedge had been so reluctant to grant him and Wes leave at the same time.

"--oh, hey, I've heard about this place! Quick, Hobbie, in here -- we can get lost in here real easy."

Why they needed to get lost in the first place was something he was trying not to think about. He knew it was Wes' fault somehow, though.

_Everything_ was Wes' fault somehow.

(They hadn't managed to pin the Death Star on him yet, but Face was working on it.)

"'Lorana's Labyrinth'?" he read from the door as Wes dragged him in by the wrist; but there was no immediate response, as Wes _continued_ to drag him, through a ... maze?

It certainly seemed like one, anyway. It was a tapcafe -- that much he could get from the smell and sound of the place -- but there were no tables, booths or seats anywhere he could see: just upraised sections of bar set out here and there rather haphazardly. It was full of people, and as the two pilots weaved through the crowd (presumably to the bar itself, though Hobbie wasn't going to bet on it; this was _Wes_ after all), they could see that much of the odd assortment of clientele were probably of the ... less than lawful persuasion.

"Lorana's Labyrinth," Wes confirmed eventually, letting go of Hobbie's wrist to lean on the bar once they'd reached it. "Best bar on Kelada, or so I've heard."

"On Kelada," Hobbie echoed, and sighed. "How did we even end up here, Wes?"

"Well, I _did_ suggest making our way out to Corellia," Wes reminded him, the picture of innocence.

Hobbie snorted. "After last time?"

"See, you said that at the time, too..."

There was a brief noise from the entrance they'd come in and Hobbie winced, but didn't look back. Wes, on the other hand, peered over his friend for a moment before turning back to the bar and grinning, apparently satisfied that their problem had been taken care of for them.

Seemingly out of nowhere (or, more likely, further down the bar) appeared a pretty blonde woman, small towel and dirty glass in hand. "You boys bringin' trouble to my bar?" The glass, slightly cleaner, was deposited on the bar's surface, and the woman gave Wes a stern look.

"Us, ma'am?" Wes was all innocence again, though with that ever charming smile this time. "Wouldn't dare. Upstanding citizens, we are."

"Wouldn't be here if y'were." But she smiled slightly and nodded at Hobbie, who was still looking round at the maze and -- were those walls actually _mirrors_? "Can I get you an' y'friend anythin', flyboy?"

"Huh? Oh, uh--" He glanced at Wes.

"Two lomin ales, thanks." And that same grin again. "'Flyboy'?"

"Y'got pilot written all over you," she said, serving their drinks quickly and adding, with something halfway between disapproval and amusement, " _Military_ pilot."

"Not here to cause any trouble with anyone, ma'am," Wes promised as he took his drink. "We're on _vacation_."

"Just the type trouble follows anyway?"

Wes grinned.

There was a pause; then the woman tapped the bar and held out a hand expectantly.

Wes shrugged, looked faintly apologetic, and nudged his wingmate.

Hobbie facepalmed and found a few credits in his pocket, handing them to the woman with a look that clearly said, _He does this all the time._ He got a sympathetic one in return, then the woman moved on down the bar to someone else.

"See?" Wes nudged him again. "Great place!"

"What's so great about it?" _Is it the wonderful smell? The so-far-charming attitude of the staff? The way that looking behind the bar only reminds you how tired you really look, thanks to the mirrors?_ "Can we even find our way _out_ again? We might be stuck in this place forever!"

"Oh, no, stuck in a _bar_ , whatever shall we _do_?"

Hobbie just looked at him.

"C'mon, lighten up. We got out of that fight, didn't we? This is our last night before we have to head back to Fondor. Have _fun_."

"Fun."

"Fun!"

"Wes, I don't think I could be having less fun right now if I _tried_."

"Aw, Hobbie, _lighten up_ ," Wes commanded. He glanced round the bar, and Hobbie hid a smirk at his confusion with the mirrors. But then Wes pointed at someone a little way away -- a pretty dark-haired girl standing by herself -- and said, "Bet you can't get her to give you her comm number."

A faint note of _uh-oh_ went through Hobbie's head, and he shook his head.

Wes smirked. "See? Coward!"

Oh, now that did it. "Bet I could," he shot back, and the _uh-oh_ got louder. 

It went away with another half-glass of ale.

Wes grinned and patted his shoulder. "Ten creds says you can't."

Hobbie wavered another moment -- then downed his drink, put the glass down, and said, "Twenty," before heading off in the direction of the girl.

He was almost at her table -- or rather, seatless random section of bar -- before she noticed him; and when she did, he caught a brief widening of eyes before she looked away. That seemed a little odd, but he approached anyway, smiled faintly, and tried to remember all those things Wes said were _sure_ to get a girl.

He then promptly discarded them.

"Hi there," he said instead, trying to catch her eye.

After a brief moment, she glanced at him and muttered, "I can't be seen talking to you."

Hobbie blinked. "Ouch. I thought Wes was supposed to get that response."

She swore quietly, glancing over Hobbie's shoulder. "Janson too? Kriffing _flyboys_. You'll-- look, get _out_ of here. Use one of Lorana's exits."

"Hey, what? We're not _that_ bad, y'know." Hobbie tried not to sound both hurt and confused. "Do I _know_ you?" He squinted, then realised it was probably someone on a mission. "Iella?"

"No. _Leave_."

Hobbie frowned and went to look back over his shoulder at Wes -- but the view was blocked, and not just by the crowd. Before he could work out why, someone spun him round by his shoulder and said, "I think the lady wants you to leave her alone."

"Uh--" The someone was taller than him, bigger than him, and probably stronger than him. "--right. Of course. I'll just go back to the bar--"

He moved to weave back through the crowd towards Wes, but the hand on his shoulder stopped him and directed him towards the other end of the bar. 

"No," said the someone, "I really think she wants you to _leave_."

Hobbie supposed he didn't have much of a choice in the matter if he didn't want his shoulder -- or the rest of him -- to hurt even worse. He squirmed slightly with his other arm, to click his comlink and attract Wes' attention; he couldn't get at his blaster, given that this would be the arm currently being all but twisted behind his back by the someone now frogmarching him away. _What is this, twelve-year-old bullying tactics?_

Before he knew it, the someone had forced him to duck under and behind the bar -- where he managed to slip in spilt lum, flail, and land face-first on the floor. _Just to improve this situation ten-fold._

He was quickly joined by Wes, who made a slightly-more-dignified landing and shot back a confused but fakely-cheerful, "Nice to meet you, too!" to the same someone. He then scowled quickly at the blaster in his hand. " _Knew_ I should've got a new power pack -- fight this morning used the last of the charge."

"Uh, Wes--?"

"You boys _are_ more trouble than you're worth, aren'tcha?" 

Hobbie sighed and considered just lying back down in the lum and hoping he'd wake up back on Fondor. But he turned round and started to get to his feet, stopping as the woman from earlier -- Lorana, he supposed -- poked his forehead firmly. He blinked. "What was that for?"

"I think we're in trouble," Wes said in a stage whisper from beside him, and grinned up at Lorana, a wary edge to it this time. 

"Normally I'd let the rough'uns deal with you, but 'pparently this is _special_ trouble." She still sounded amused, though, and glanced behind her before hitting something under the bar. 

One of the mirrors in the back wall swung inwards to darkness, and Hobbie stared. 

"Go on," she said firmly, "an' quick -- I don't wanna be seein' you flyboys again for a while, y'hear me?"

"I," Wes started loftily -- quite a feat in his slightly-bruised, lum-covered, crouching condition, "don't think--"

"Don't teach y'the meanin' of 'quick' in the New Republic, huh," she muttered, and Hobbie stared again as -- apparently with little effort -- she grabbed Wes by his collar and threw him into the darkness. There was a lot of clattering and indignant shouts as the pilot fell down what sounded like a steep slope, and then silence.

"Uh," Hobbie said after a moment, and scrambled backwards a little way from Lorana -- unintentionally closer to the hole in the wall. "Please don't throw me into the weird creepy darkness."

She gave him a look, pointed at said darkness, then tossed him a pack of nuts. Wryly, "For the ride," and one firm shove knocked him in.

It hurt. It hurt a lot. It hurt all the way down, it hurt at the end, and then it hurt _afterwards_ , as he lay in dust and dirt and muttered as many curses as he could think of. A lot of them, rather irrationally, directed at Wes. Because this was obviously another thing that was his fault.

"You _wound_ me, Hobbie!"

Wes sounded far too cheerful for someone who'd just been thrown down a slope, and Hobbie looked up quickly and glared at him. Then blinked, because it was a lot lighter down here than he thought it'd be. In fact, it was a lot bigger and even cleaner, in a relative sort of way. Lighter, bigger, cleaner -- and with ships. Lots of ships.

One of Lorana's secret exits, then, led to a secret _hangar_.

"What _happened_?" he muttered, not quite expecting a real answer as he stumbled to his feet. "Never got turned down like _that_ before--"

"Oh, yeah," Wes interrupted, "you owe me twenty credits--"

"Kriff off."

"--I'll remind you about it later."

"I think I can explain, Major Klivian," said a familiar voice to the side, and Hobbie could almost hear the wry smirk added at the end. "That is, as much as I'm willing to explain anything for free."

"But he says if we're willing to be blissfully ignorant, which I said we're used to enough from NRI, he'll take us back to Fondor without us having to go find our ship, since, y'know, those guys probably sorta maybe stole it anyway."

"This," Hobbie muttered, wincing at the pain in his shoulders as he leaned against the wall, "has not been my favourite vacation ever."

"I'll throw in some bacta, too, if you pretend you never saw me or any of my agents here."

Hobbie facepalmed as Wes cheerfully agreed. "So we don't get to know why any of this just happened. Absolutely no explanation. No exposition. Nothing."

This seemed to be given due consideration, and was then answered with a rather cheerful, "No."

"...great."

Did he say everything was Wes' fault? Strike that. 

At least half was Talon Karrde's.  



End file.
